Dad and Shelley

One Door Closes:

My father-in-law, Ken Kaczkowski, died on Friday, January 27, after a long illness. We weren’t able to make it home before he passed away, but were lucky enough to visit him in Tennessee right before we left for Rome late last year. We attended his funeral a few days ago.

Here are a few memories I have of my father-in-law:

On our wedding day, 27 years ago, he visited me in the little bridal room at the church before the ceremony. He came in to wish me good luck and to give me a few words of advice for our marriage. I won’t tell you what he said, but I was–and still am–appreciative.

There were plenty of times I probably should have bitten my tongue during the almost three decades I knew him (I’m fairly liberal, and he was…….not), but one thing is for sure–I could always count on a lively conversation with Dad. We both had the (ahem) “gift” of being extremely opinionated, no matter what the subject. I found him engaging, intelligent and humorous.

He made us laugh. I’ll never forget the last time we saw him–we played Zilch (a dice game) and he kept getting these ridiculously incredible scores, while doing crazy Ed Norton-like shenanigans like hitting the dice cup on his elbows, making faces and cracking corny jokes. This is, mind you, at a time when he must have been exhausted–he was hooked up to an oxygen tank 100% of the time, and drove himself to dialysis every other day. His strength was amazing.

Mom, Dad and Alex

We’ll miss, you, Dad.

And Another Door Opens:

We flew back to America on Thursday night, and headed to the Great Lakes Naval base the next day.

The graduation was awe-inspiring–770 fresh-faced Navy recruits, each one turned into a sailor during eight weeks of rigorous training. Our son Alex, the Honor recruit of his division, received a special commendation along with a few other sailors, in a private ceremony for them and their families. I had goosebumps the whole time.

The next day, our two families headed over to the Justice Center for a lovely little wedding ceremony, then celebrated the event with a dinner of sushi and teriyaki. At the end of the meal, the restaurant staff came out with drums and serenaded the couple, insisting that their families dance for them. What a crazy, funny wedding memory Alex and Kalpa now have–their families busting a move in their honor!

We head back to Rome tomorrow. I’m looking forward to getting back, but it’s hard to say goodbye…again.

I only wish I had a picture to show you of H.E.R. Last Sunday, we took the train down to the northeast corner of Rome and visited H.E.R at the Ke Nako Cafe. She’s a statuesque blond who sings, plus plays piano and violin. I take that back; she doesn’t sing–she whispers, growls, yelps, purrs, trills and thrills with her at times operatic, other times hard rock, and always dramatically fascinating voice. H.E.R. somehow manages to ride the musical rails between Rachmaninoff and Metallica.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a HUGE music fan…I love just about all types, and also get a kick out of singing. But…singing in Italian??? This week, I took another fascinating–albeit short–trip through Mediterranean music…up close and personal. On Wednesday, my Italian professor decided to have the class sing a pop song fron 2000. It was quite comical…the song was awesome, but man, those Italians talk (and sing) fast! Here’s the song, “Le Cose In Commune,” by Daniele Silvestri. When you listen to it, imagine me, three 20-somethings from New York, a female philosphy professor and an Egyptian Franciscan monk named Sharbel all standing in a circle trying to sing the words…mostly, we just giggled…and don’t forget to hit your “back to previous page” button…there’s one more video I want to show you! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IgynZh-DPE

Yesterday, we ventured back to Ke Nako for a re-check on the local scene. This time, a two-man group called Il Velo de Maya was on tap. Amazing….another avant-garde afternoon…they just don’t have this stuff in Wisconsin. Mauro Tiberi, the vocalist and string musician, specializes in sacred and Eastern vocal techniques, and although he plays guitar and violin, his voice is his main instrument. I felt like I should close my eyes and do yoga during parts of his performance. Here is a very short video by Jerry Kaczkowski of Mauro Tiberi on the base and Ivan Macera on percussion: http://youtu.be/JoSp7BWdbbA

“Well it’s a-one for the money, two for the show…”

This is a pensive Elvis, perhaps worrying about what the Colonel had in store for him next.

“You don’t have to stay forever; I will understand…”

The Colosseum: where the crowd came for the kill

The Colosseum, more than 1,930 years old, isn’t just a grand representation of ancient Roman architecture; it’s the site of several hundred thousand murders.

Ancient Romans were brutal, and their ways of dealing with criminals, slaves and prisoners of war were gruesome, at best. Probably no place better illustrates this than the Colosseum. A project of the Emperor Vespasian and his son, Titus, it is, no doubt, a masterpiece of engineering. The laborers, however, were Jewish prisoners, who became slaves to the Romans after they were conquered circa 70 AD. These same prisoners, by the way, were also forced to construct the Arch of Titus in the nearby Roman Forum. This arch is filled with reliefs depicting battle scenes of that war, in which they lost their country until the establishment of Israel in 1948. It’s a cruel example of insult added to injury.

The Arch of Titus

In the first 100 days after the Colosseum was completed, they say that more than 2,000 men and more than 9,000 animals fell to their deaths, in front of crowds that numbered up to 50,000 persons–and countless statues of various Roman gods and former rulers also watching from their perches beneath the building’s numerous vaulted arches. Whether animal vs. animal, animal vs. man, woman vs. woman (yes, there were women gladiators), or man vs. man, each battle was a spectacle, and most were fought to the death of the weaker opponent.

Scenery–elaborate backdrops, trees and other props–was hauled up from underground, using an intricate set of elevators, and arranged to create a sort of stage. The floor was wood, covered by six inches of sand–useful when lots of blood needs to be absorbed. Once the scene was set, the opponents would be released into the arena. Sometimes they were dressed as ancient gods or other heroes, and then were murdered in the same manner that their predecessor was. Imagine a prisoner, stumbling out of his cage into the center of the Colosseum, blinking at the bright sunlight, hearing the roar of the crowd, as a viciously hungry lion bares its teeth and begins circling. The audience, meanwhile, jeers, cheers, and makes bets with each other on who will remain standing. And in between the battles, clowns, jugglers and other lighter forms of entertainment provide a bit of comic relief. The extremes to which the Romans went to put on these macabre shows were nearly unbelievable; at one point in history, the arena was routinely flooded and elaborate sea battles were waged.

The belly of the beast; these are the underground chambers that housed scenery, animals, humans.

Rome, of course, fell, and the Colosseum was eventually plundered for its marble and other precious building material for other later monuments–St. Peter’s Basilica and the Palazzo Venezia, among others. The death penalty, by the way, was largely quitted in Italy in 1948, and abolished completely in 2009. And today, when capital punishment is outlawed in other countries, Romans celebrate the event; in 2009, for example, when New Mexico eliminated the death penalty, the arches of the Colosseum were lit to a golden glow in commemoration. I’m glad this ancient killing arena is still standing, as a reminder of the barbaric past–a place to which we must never return. I find the Colosseum compelling, but also completely creepy.

This cross was commissioned by Pope Benedict XIV. It stands inside, near the emperor's seat.

For more on the history of the Colosseum: http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ancient/romans/colosseum_01.shtml

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/Secrets-of-the-Colosseum.html

I’m guessing this fellow falls into the strong and silent category.

Just like any other country, Rome has its share of good-looking guys who spend a lot of time sitting around waiting to be noticed:

Personally, I prefer the tall, dark and mysterious type–the kind I know will always defend me:

Some men are just plain freaky-deaky, like this mad little hatter:

Ultimately, I think it’s important for men to have outside interests, don’t you? This ancient Roman seems to have that covered (horses), even while he himself is, well, rather UNcovered:

If you’re like me, you’ll be content to admire these Italian men from a distance; after all, any deeper relationship is sure to be…um…rocky.

This is how Italians dry their clothes!

Yikes!!! It takes a lot of work to live in Italy! And I don’t even have a real job yet–I’m talking about shopping, doing laundry and getting around town.

My close friends know that I am NOT fond of shopping, even at home, where I can understand what people are saying to me. The problem is exacerbated here; to have more choices (and fresh foods), you need to go to one store to buy meat and cheese, another for bread and sweets, another for fruit, and another for wine. There are also tobacco shops, electronic shops, perfume stores, and pharmacies that sell nothing but drugs. It’s almost enough to make your hair curl–which would be good, since I can’t find a curling iron in the entire city of Rome. You should see me–I look like the scary mom from Stephen King’s Carrie.

When I shop here, I’m pretty much the town clown, going from store to store, telling everybody I meet ”non parlo italiano,” even when they are actually speaking to the person behind me. When I don’t understand what someone is saying, my first reaction is to flush, the second is to forget the rudimentary Italian I DO know, and third, to grin stupidly while shaking my head. Yesterday I was in a grocery store, and another customer began talking to me and gesturing, so I gave her my standard “non parlo…” until she held out a little ticket to me. I tried to take it out of her hand, but she wouldn’t let go. And she wouldn’t leave–she just kept standing there, looking at me, saying, “Non capisce, eh?” Finally, right before I sank into a sad little heap of embarrassment, I figured out that she wanted to know if she could have my supersaver points, or whatever you call them. So I said, “no problema,” and slunk out of the store with my fabric softener.

That, by the way, was the second bottle of fabric softener I bought. We thought the first bottle was laundry soap, and so I washed three loads in it. Taking the first load out of the washer, I said to Jerry, “These kind of stink,” so I poured even more fabric softener into the machine for the next two, thinking they’d get more clean! When we hung them out on the balcony to dry, it started raining, so we had to bring the drying rack into our bedroom, where they got all stiff–seriously, the towels feel like emory boards–so naturally, we thought we needed fabric softener. This morning, Jerry got out the dictionary, and discovered that we still needed laundry soap! Arrrrgh!

At least getting places is easy–PSYCH–that one is for you, Chris. (He’s trying to bring the word “psych” back in vogue! Anything I can do to help, man…) To get to the Packer bar last Sunday, we first called a cab company, and they said they didn’t have cabs running that late (it was a 3:15 game at home; here it started at 10:15). So we looked at maps and found one bus that would take us there, and another “night” bus that would bring us home. We simply had to walk to the correct bus stop.

Easier said than done. We turned the wrong way THREE times and asked several different people for directions before we got to the bus stop 45 minutes later (we subsequently discovered that it’s just five minutes from our apartment!). I think that in Italy, Google maps are upside down.

Of course, it’s all worth it, and I know it’ll get easier. Today I was able to actually ask a shopkeeper if he knew where I could buy a curling iron, and I understood (sort of) what he said back to me. Wish me luck (and Jerry, since he has to look at me).

My mind is slowly traveling ’round a curve…moving gradually out of sadness at leaving our children, family and friends toward thinking about how to assimilate into a whole new life in Rome. I can be gregarious with my friends (anybody remember those hot tub parties?), but I’m shy when it comes to meeting new people on my own (you know, with no introductions). So what I need is a plan for making friends in Rome, and here it is:

Get Some Class: sign up for language lessons. Last time we were there, when we tried to speak Italian, it was so bad they’d immediately speak English to us. This might be a good place to meet people like me.

Belly Up: Stand at the banco (counter) to drink coffee. That’s where people converse. Twice each week, I’m going to force myself to strike up a conversation with someone (not easy for me, and it’s going to be even more scary in another language).

Disconnect and Connect: When I’m writing, I tend to spend a lot of time in front of the computer. I’m going to ease off this next year and spend more time in other places. Jerry wants to join a bowling league; maybe I’ll find something to join, too. I’m thinking about a book club, because that would also force me to read–and discuss what I’ve read–in Italian. I wonder if they have cooking clubs?

If anyone has suggestions for me, please feel free to comment! I could use the help. And now, for some music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6ng8kHgSyk

And totally surprised…! With all this going on, it’s really difficult to put my mind on writing about Italy, even though we leave in just eight short days.

So I guess I’ll just go with the flow, and share a few Italian wedding traditions with you. Not everyone does all of these, and some of them are pretty old-school, but they’re definitely fun!

Wife Test: Sometimes, the couple walks to the church together, with frenemies placing obstacles in the bride’s path to see what type of wife she will be. If she picks up a broom, for example, she is expected to keep a clean house. Thank god nobody did that to me–I’d still be single.

Single? Knot! A large ribbon may be placed over the doorway of the church to signify the union. Sometimes, the bride and groom will tie the ribbon together in front of the chapel.

Dances with Guns: During Sicilian wedding receptions, la tarantella is a traditional group dance. Not too long ago, men would open their coats to reveal their sawed-off shotguns and other weapons. The story goes that it was simply impolite to conceal weapons. I rather think they just wanted to look tough. 

It’s In the Bag: Italian brides often carry a satin purse during the reception, in order to accept monetary gifts from the guests. Traditionally, if someone gives her a gift, she awards them a dance. 

Thank the Don: This is, traditionally, the day to thank the parents of the bride and groom for any favor they have done you in the past. If you forget this part, you may want to sit facing the door each time you dine at a restaurant.

Mangia, Mangia! The best part, of course, is the food! As many as 14 different courses are served, each with its own wine or liquor accompaniment. The finishing touch? A layered cake served with espresso. Afterward, drinking and dancing go on into the wee hours–and sometimes the festivities last for several days!

A float in the parade at Carnevale, in Putignano, Italy

Tonight I will be in my American kitchen making hors d’ oeuvres and desserts for Thanksgiving with my daughter (can’t wait!).

Italians, of course, don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but there are 12 national holidays on their calendars, when businesses close and people turn to food, drink and camaraderie:

1 January – New Year’s Day
6 January – Epiphany
Easter Sunday (date varies)
Easter Monday (I love this; why don’t Americans celebrate this?)
25 April – Festa della Liberazione (Anniversary of the Liberation)
1 May – Festa dei Lavatori (Labor Day)
2 June -Festa della Repubblica (Republic Day)
15 August – Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary
1 November – All Saints Day
8 December – Immaculate Conception
25 December – Christmas Day
26 December – Boxing Day

You’ll notice that seven of these are religious holidays, also celebrated here at home. New Years, of course, is the same as here, and Labor Day, while celebrated in May, vs. our September, has organized labor roots similar to our own. What I’ll attempt to explain in this post is the meaning behind the other Italian national holidays: Festa della Liberazione, Festa della Repubblica and Boxing Day.

Festa della Liberazione: This feast day celebrates the success of the Italian Resistance in liberating Italy from both the Nazis and from their own dictator, Mussolini, in 1945. These days, there are celebrations and parades all over the country on April 25, and the song Bella Ciao is a common refrain. Bella Ciao tells of an Italian resistance fighter who died in the quest for freedoom–he wanted to be buried in the mountains in the shade of a beautiful flower. Here is the song: www.youtube.com/user/madex77

Festa della Repubblica: On this day in 1946, Italy became a Republic, ousting the monarchy. Unlike April 25, which commemorates the death of tyranny, this day celebrates the birth of a nation. Think of it as a day similar to our July 4.

Boxing Day: First of all, I love this name! This is actually the feast of St. Stephen, said to be the first martyr for Jesus–stoned to his death in Jerusulem. December 26 is referred to as “Boxing Day” not because everybody dons gloves and starts beating each other, but because people have left gifts of money and other treasures at hospitals and churches ever since the Middle Ages.

The most interesting part of this holiday in Italy is the Carnevale that takes place in the town of Putignano, beginning on Boxing Day and ending on Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wed. This well-known Italian event consists of 4 over-the-top parades, complete with incredible floats and masquerades, plus various other celebrations throughout the time period. I’m already thinking about what my costume will be! http://placeinpuglia.com/puglia-the-region/events/putignano-carneval

I have a serious addiction to spices.

In typical materialistic American fashion, I have accumulated far too much stuff. I’m realizing, as we start thinking about what to bring with us to Rome, that, apart from family photos and heirlooms, none of it is very important.